5.01
Ninja Dragon
Feb 11, 2018
Jan 25, 2006(20y)
Jan 25, 2027(168d)
Combat
Kills263
Losses33
Efficiency89%
ISK
Destroyed143.77b
Lost2.97b
ISK Eff.98%
Solo
Solo Kills7
Solo Ratio3%
Final Blows51
Points263
Other
NPC Losses0
NPC Loss Ratio0%
Avg Kills/Day0.04
ActivityInactive
Amarr
Amarr
5.01
Ninja Dragon
Last Active
Feb 11, 2018
Birthday
Jan 25, 2006 (20 years old)
Next Birthday
Jan 25, 2027 (168 days)
Combat
Kills263
Losses33
Efficiency89%
Danger Ratio100%
ISK
Destroyed143.77b
Lost2.97b
ISK Efficiency98%
Balance+140.80b
Solo
Solo Kills7
Solo Ratio3%
Final Blows51
Points263
Other
NPC Losses0
NPC Loss Ratio0%
Avg Kills/Day0.04
ActivityInactive
Nothing in the last 7d
Bio
http://i.imgur.com/dUmQLSt.jpg
Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.
...
There's A race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far,
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
...
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds.
...
There's A race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far,
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.
And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.
...
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
Dashboard
Stats
No activity in the last 90d
Last seen Feb 2018
Intel Profile
PlaystyleSolo (0 kills)
Avg Fleet: -